Katerina's Wish by Jeannie Mobley

Author:Jeannie Mobley
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Margaret K. McElderry Books
Published: 2012-09-21T16:00:00+00:00

The next day Papa was back at work once again. Old Jan arrived at our house midmorning.

“How is Mark this morning?” I asked. My concern had only grown in the night, but Old Jan did not look worried.

“He is still sleeping,” he said. “He was worn out from yesterday, so I did not wake him for breakfast. Sleep is the best thing for him. I came to see if there is something I might do for the garden.”

I did not want to think about the garden or see the ruined chicken yard, so I stayed inside to help my mother with the mending while Old Jan and my sisters worked outside. Still, I was fidgety and my mind was not on my work. The third time I had to remove a big tangle from my thread, Momma asked me what was the matter.

“If you want to go out to your garden, go on,” she said. “Heaven knows you’re not very useful here as you are.”

I dropped my hands to my lap and sighed. “I’m worried about Mark. He felt warm last night when I helped him to bed.”

Momma’s needle stopped in midair.

“A fever?”

“I—I don’t know. It was a warm day. Maybe he was just worn out, like Old Jan said.”

“There’s broth for our lunch on the stove,” Momma said. “Perhaps you should take some and look in on him.” “Old Jan said he’s resting.”

“But you won’t be easy till you’re sure he’s all right, and I won’t either, now. Go on. If all’s well with him, you can come right back.”

I already felt better just to be checking on him myself. I poured some of the broth into a small pan and set off at once up the hill to Mark’s house.

Inside, the house was still and quiet. I set the pan of broth on the stove and tiptoed through to the bedroom. The curtain was closed, so the room was dim. Karel was snoring in one corner. In the other corner, Mark lay still on his back in Old Jan’s bed, his face turned toward the wall. I stood in the doorway and watched him, his chest rising and falling with each breath. At first, I felt a rush of relief at how peacefully he slept, but as I stood watching, I realized something was wrong. His breaths were not the slow, deep breaths of a restful sleep. They were too quick and shallow.

I crossed the few steps to his bedside and leaned over him, trying to see his face. His hair was plastered to his neck with sweat. Dread filled me. I reached out and put a hand on his forehead. Even before I touched him, I could feel the heat of fever.

He stirred at my touch and turned his head. The flush in his cheeks and, his hair, curling with sweat, made him look so young. His eyes fluttered open and swept past my face before closing again. He mumbled something about dancing.

I bit my lip hard to hold back the sob of fear that lurched up from my gut.

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